JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY,  WHO    IS  r 
SERIOUSLY   ILL. 


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JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY  — AN  APPRECIATION 

WHEN  a  poet  dies,  all  the  world  is  poorer.  There  is  less  of  the" 
sunshine  that  makes  life  brighter ;  less  of  the  philosophy  that  makes 
life  easier.  James  Whitcomb  Riley  went  pleasantly  to  sleep  on  the 
night  of  July  22nd  and  awoke  in  that  land  to  which  every  man  journeys 
— the  land  where  it  is  always  afternoon.  If  Longfellow  and  Tennyson 
and  Charles  Dickens  were  not  there  to  greet  him,  then  the  poet's  faith 
—a  faith  as  simple  and  as  earnest  as  a  child's — suffered  a  rude  shock. 
Mr.  Riley  loved  life;  loved  its  warmth,  its  cheer,  its  smiling  face.  The 
green  approach  of  spring  was  to  him  a  royal  procession,  and  he  went 
out  to  meet  it  as  he  would  a  prince.  It  was  to 
him,  as  to  but  few,  the  sign  and  the  promise  of 
a  resurrection  after  winter's  death.  Formal 
creeds  he  knew  nothing  of,  but  his  belief  that 
He  who  painted  the  sunset  has  provided  also  a 
place  of  beauty  for  His  tired  children  was  as 
firm  and  as  abounding  and  as  simple  as  a 
child's  faith  in~the  omniscience  of  its  mother. 
He  talked  with  a  homely  familiarity  of  the 
Great  Event,  and  yet  always  with  reverence. 
He  believed  that  our  punishment  was  meted 
out  to  us  here;  he  believed  in  rewards  to  come; 
he  believed  in  a  bodily  resurrection  and  in  a 
continuing  consciousness.  He  had  no  faintest  doubt  but  that  he  would 
meet  and  talk  with  all  the  great  ones  of  earth  who  had  gone  before 
and  with  whom  he  had  some  spiritual  or  intellectual  kinship.  He  was 
beautifully  confident  that  Tennyson  would  tell  him  of  the  Lady  of 
Shalott  and  that  Longfellow1  and  Mrs.  Browning  and  Stevenson  and 
Dickens  would  similarly  reply  to  all  his  eager  questioning.  Nor  is  it 
difficult  to  imagine  that  they  in  turn  would  have  much  to  ask  of  the 
author  of  Old  Fashioned  Roses,  of  Grant,  and  The  South  Wind  and 
the  Sun. 

In  his  brilliant  speech,  notifying  Thomas  R.  Marshall  that  his 
party  had  again  chosen  him  as  its  Vice-Presidential  candidate,  Martin 
H.  Glenn  spoke  feelingly  of  Riley  as  the  "poet  of  democracy."  And 
so  he  was.  He  loved  the  man  that  keeps  close  to  the  soil,  whose  speech 
is  kindly  and  humorous,  and  whose  interests  are  human.  He  had  a 
tremendous  admiration  for  unaided  accomplishment,  for  the  man  who 
makes  himself,  and  does  a  good  job  of  it.  He  had  the  deepest  sympathy 
for  failure,  for  "poor  weak  human  nature,"  and  there  was  no  derelict 
too  dilapidated  to  win  his  aid.  This  love  of  his  fellowman  is  manifest 
in  all  he  wrote,  and  is  the  very  heart  and  soul  of  his  immortality. 


RILEY   CHILD -RHYMES 
WITH   HOOSIER  PICTURES 


£K0er 


THE    GOLDEN    YEAR    (En- 
glish Edition). 

A  CHILD-WORLD. 

NEGHBORLY  POEMS. 

SKETCHES  IN  PROSE  AND 
INTERLUDING  VERSES. 

AFTERWHILES. 

PIPES    O'    PAN    (Prose    and 
Verse). 

RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

FLYING   ISLANDS   OF  THE 
NIGHT. 

OLD-FASHIONED        ROSES 
(English  Edition). 

GREEN  FIELDS  AND  RUN- 
NING BROOKS. 

ARMAZINDY. 

POEMS  HERE  AT  HOME. 

RUBAIYAT  OF  DOC  SIFERS, 
AN  OLD  SWEETHEART  OF 
MINE. 


A-list'nin'  to  the  witch-tales  'at  Annie  tells  about 


RILEY 

CHILD-RHYMES 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


WILL  VAWTER 


INDIANAPOLIS  AND  KANSAS  CITY 

THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 

MDCCC  XC  IX 


I 


Copyright,  1890,  1896  and  1898 

by 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 


Braunworth,  Munn  &  Barber 

Printers  and  Binders 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


WITH  HALE  AFFECTION  AND  ABIDING  FAITH 
THESE  RHYMES  AND  PICTURES 

ARE  INSCRIBED 
TO  THE  CHILDREN  EVERYWHERE 


T 


V 


He  owns  the  bird-songs  of  the  hills  — 
The  laughter  of  the  April  rills; 
And  his  are  all  the  diamonds  set 
In  Morning's  dewy  coronet, — 
And  his  the  Dusk's  first  minted  stars 
That  twinkle  through  the  pasture-bars 
And  litter  all  the  skies  at  night 
With  glittering  scraps  of  silver  light;— 
The  rainbow's  bar,  from  rim  to  rim, 
In  beaten  gold,  belongs  to  him. 


t- 


PAGE. 

LITTLE  OEPHANT  ANNIE .23 

THE  RAGGEDY  MAN 28 

CUBLY  LOCKS .    .    .    .~ 32 

THE  FUNNY  LITTLE  FELLOW 35 

THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE .    .  40 

THE  RIDER  OF  THE  KNEE 48 

DOWN  ABOUND  THE  R  i VEE ...;..  51 

AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE .56 

THE  DAYS  GONE  BY 60 

THE  BUMBLEBEE 64 

THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUE  FARM  ........'. 67 

THE  SQUIRTGUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME 71 

THE  OLD  TRAMP 75 

OLD  AUNT  MAEY'S *•-'»-• '6 

WINTEE  FANCIES      , 80 

THE  RUNAWAY  BOY 85 

(XV) 


CONTENTS —  Continued 

THE  LITTLE  COAT 90 

AN  IMPETUOUS  EESOLVE 95 

WHO  SANTY-CLAUS  Wuz 99 

NINE  LITTLE  GOBLINS       104 

TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS 109 

THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE 114 

THE  LUGUBRIOUS  WHING-WHANG 119 

WAITIN'  FER  THE  CAT  TO  DIE 121 

NAUGHTY  CLAUDE 126 

THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 127 

THE  JOLLY  MILLER .136 

OUR  HIRED  GIRL 140 

THE  BOYS' CANDIDATE      . 144 

THE  PET  COON 145 

THE  OLD  HAY-MOW 148 

ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE 152 

A  SUDDEN  SHOWER 156 

GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS 160 

THE  PIXY  PEOPLE 167 

A  LIFE  LESSON      171 

A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY  TALE 175 

THE  BEAR  STORY 179 

ENVOY    .  187 


(xvi) 


WITCH-TALES      .    .    .    FRONTISPIECE. 

THEY  WAS  TWO  GREAT  BIG  BLACK  THINGS  A-STANDIN'  BY  HER  SIDE    ...  23 

AN1  WHEN  THEY  TUEXT  THE  KIVVERS  DOWN 25 

LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE — TAILPIECE 27 

THE  RAGGEDY  MAN— TITLE 28 

HE  SHOWED  ME  THE  HOLE  'AT  THE  WUNKS  IS  GOT 29 

CURLY  LOCKS— TITLE 32 

SlT  ON  A  CUSHION  AND  SEW  A  FINE  SEAM 33 

\ 

THE  FUNNY  LITTLE  FELLOW— TITLE 35 

NEVER  KNEW  A  BABY  THAT  WOULDN'T  CROW  FOE  HTM. ,    .    .  37 

THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE— TITLE 40 

AN1  I  PECK  ON  THE  WINDER 41 

AN'  COOKS  A'  EGG  FEE  ME      45 

THE  HAPPY  LITTLE  CRIPPLE— TAILPIECE 47 

(xvii) 


ILLUSTRATIONS — Continued 

THE  EIDEE  OF  THE  KNEE c    .    .    f  49 

DOWN  AROUND  THE  RIVER— TITLE 51 

NOON-TIME  AND  JUNE-TIME  DOWN  AROUND  THE  RIVEII     .    ,    ......  53 

DOWN  AROUND  THE  RIVER— TAILPIECE „    „    .    „    .  55 

AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE— TITLE ,    ,    .  56 

WE  ET  OUT  ON  THE  PORCH 57 

THE  DAYS  GONE  BY— TITLE 60 

IN  THE  ORCHARD 61 

THE  BUMBLEBEE 65 

THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM— TITLE 67 

STAND  UP  LIKE  HIM  AN'  DRIVE „ 69 

THE  SQUIRTGUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME— TITLE 71 

THE  SQUIRTGUN — TAILPIECE 72 

AN'  NEN  HE  PEELED  OFF  THE  BARK 73 

THE  OLD  TRAMP 75 

WE  PATTER  ALONG  IN  THE  DUST  AGAIN 77 

OLD  AUNT  MARY'S — TAILPIECE 79 

WINTER  FANCIES— TITLE      80 

WINTER  WITHOUT  AND  WARMTH  WITHIN      81 

HERE  IN  MY  ROOM  I'M  AS  SNUGLY  SHUT 84 

AN' A  GREA'-BIG  PIG  WENT  "  BOOH  ! " 87 

HUG  WITE  CLOSE  ROUND  HER  NECK 89 

THE  LITTLE  COAT      91 


(  xviii ) 


ILLUSTRATIONS — Continued 

THE  LITTLE  COAT — TAILPIECE 94 

AN  IMPETUOUS  EESOLVE— TITLE 95 

I'M  GO'  TO  BE  A  BAKER - 96 

A-SLINGIN'  PIE-CRUST  'LONG  THE  ROAD 97 

WHO  SANTY-CLAUS  Wuz— TITLE 99 

AN'  QUAR'L  WITH  HIS  FROSTED  HEELS 101 

WHO  SANTA-GLAUS  Wuz— TAILPIECE 103 

THE  NINE  LITTLE  GOBLINS       105 

THE  NINE  LITTLE  GOBLINS— TAILPIECE 108 

TIME  OF  CLEARER  TWITTERINGS— TITLE 109 

WHERE  THE  SHELLBARK  HICKORY  TREE  (RE-DRAWN  FROM  PHOTO)      .    .    .111 

THE  CIRCUS-DAY  PARADE 115 

HOW  THE  CAGES  JOLTED  PAST 117 

AND,  LAST  OF  ALL,  THE  CLOWN 118 

THE  LUGUBRIOUS  WHING-W HANG— TITLE 119 

WAITIN'  FER  THE  CAT  TO  DIE— TITLE 121 

BAREFOOTED,  HUNGRY,  LEAN,  ORNRY  BOYS ,    ....  123 

WHY  YOU  ROCK  so  SLOW  1 125 

NAUGHTY  CLAUDE 126 

THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN— TITLE 127 

THIS  PAIR  OF  MERRY  FAYS 131 

THE  JOLLY  MILLER— TITLE 136 

THAT  CAT  o'  YOURN  I  'D  KILL  HER 137 

Wuz  PARCHIN'  CORN  FER  THE  RAGGEDY  MAN 141 

THE  BOYS'  CANDIDATE 144 

(xix) 


ILLUSTRATIONS — Continued 

THE  PET  COON— TITLE 145 

AN'  NEN  WHEN  BILLY  FIGHTED  ME 147 

THE  OLD  HAT-MOW — TITLE 148 

IN  OUK  HAY-MOW  WHERE  I  KEEP  STORE 149 

ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE— TITLE 152 

AS  A  ROMPING  BOY  ON  THE  SUNNY  SIDE  (RE-DRAWN  FROM  PHOTO)   ....  153 

A  SUDDEN  SHOWER— TITLE 156 

SCHOOLGIRL  FACES  . . .  GLEAM  FROM  THE  SHAWLS  ABOUT  THEIR  HEADS  .    .  157 

A  SUDDEN  SHOWER— TAILPIECE 159 

GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS— TITLE 160 

AND  SMOKE  LEAF-TOBACCO 163 

GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS — TAILPIECE 166 

THE  PIXY  PEOPLE-TITLE 167 

WINGED  ABOVE  THE  WALK 169 

A  LIFE  LESSON— TITLE 171 

BUT  HEAVEN  HOLDS  ALL  FOR  WHICH  YOU  SIGH 173 

A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY-TALE—TITLE , 175 

A  LITTLE  DUDE-FAIRY 177 

ENVOY 185 


(XX) 


RILEY   CHILD-RHYMES 


LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE 

LITTLE  Orphant  Annie's  come  to  our  house  to  stay, 
An'  wash  the  cups  an'  saucers  up,  an'  brush  the 

crumbs  away, 
An'  shoo  the  chickens  off  the  porch,  an'  dust  the  hearth, 

an'  sweep, 
An'  make  the  fire,  an'  bake  the  bread,  an'  earn  her  board- 

an'-keep ; 

An'  all  us  other  childern,  when  the  supper  things  is  done, 
We  set  around  the  kitchen  fire  an'  has  the  mostest  fun 
A-list'nin'  to  the  witch-tales  'at  Annie  tells  about, 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  'at  gits  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 

Out! 


LITTLE    OKPHANT    ANNIE 

Onc't  they  was  a  little  boy  wouldn't  say  his  prayers, — 

So  when  he  went  to  bed  at  night,  away  up  stairs, 

His  Mammy  heerd   him  holler,  an'  his  Daddy  heerd  him 

bawl, 
An'  when  they  turn't  the  kivvers  down,  he  wasn't  there 

at  all ! 
An'  they  seeked  him    in  the  rafter-room,  an'  cubby-hole, 

an'  press, 
An'  seeked  him   up  the  chimbly-flue,   an'   ever'wheres,   I 

guess; 

But  all   they  ever   found  was  thist  his  pants  an'   rounda- 
bout : — 

An'  the  Gobble-uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

An'  one  time  a  little  girl  'ud  allus  laugh  an'  grin, 
An'  make  fun  of  ever' one,  an'  all  her  blood  an'  kin  ; 
An'  onc't,  when  they  was  "company,"  an'  ole  folks  was 

there, 

She  mocked  'em  an'  shocked  'em,  an'  said  she  didn't  care ! 
An'  thist  as  she  kicked  her  heels,  an'  turn't  to  run  an'  hide, 
They  was  two  great  big  Black  Things  a-standin'  by  her  side, 


LITTLE    ORPHANT    ANNIE 


An'  they  snatched  her  through  the  ceil  in'  'fore  she  knowecl 

what  she's  about! 
An'  the  Gobble-uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 

Out! 

An'  little  Orphant  Annie  says,  when  the  blaze  is  blue, 
An'  the  lamp-wick  sputters,  an'  the  wind  goes  woo-ool 
An'  you  hear  the  crickets  quit,  an'  the  moon  is  gray, 
An'  the  lightnin'-bugs  in  dew  is  all  squenched  away, — 
You  better  mind  yer  parents,  an'  yer  teachers  fond  an'  dear 
An'  churish  them  'at  loves  you,  an'  dry  the  orphant's  tear 
An'  he'p  the  pore  an'  needy  ones  'at  clusters  all  about, 
Er  the  Gobble-uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 

Don't 

Watch 
Out! 


OTHE  RAGGEDY  MAN !   He  works  fer  Pa  ; 
An'  he's  the  goodest  man  ever  you  saw! 
He  comes  to  our  house  every  day, 
An'  waters  the  horses,  an'  feeds  'em  hay; 
An'  he  opens  the  shed — an'  we  all  1st  laugh 
When  he  drives  out  our  little  old  wobble-ly  calf; 
An'  nen — ef  our  hired  girl  says  he  can — 
He  milks  the  cow  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann. — 
Aint  he  a'  awful  good  Raggedy  Man  ? 
Raggedy !   Raggedy !   Raggedy  Man ! 

W'y,  The  Raggedy  Man — he's  ist  so  good 
He  splits  the  kindlin'  an'  chops  the  wood ; 
An'  nen  he  spades  in  our  garden,  too, 
An'  does  most  things  'at  boys  can't  do!  — 
28 


THE    RAGGEDY    MAN 

He  clumbed  clean  up  in  our  big  tree 
An'  shocked  a'  apple  down  fer  me — 
An'  nother'n',  too,  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann — 
An'  nother'n',  too,  fer  The  Raggedy  Man. — 
Aint  he  a'  awful  kind  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy !   Raggedy !   Raggedy  Man  ! 

An'  The  Raggedy  Man,  he  knows  most  rhymes 
An'  tells  'em,  ef  I  be  good,  sometimes: 
Knows  'bout  Giunts,  an'  Griffuns,  an'  Elves, 
An'  the  Squidgicum-Squees  'at  swallers  therselves! 
An',  wite  by  the  pump  in  our  pasture-lot, 
He  showed  me  the  hole  'at  the  Wunks  is  got, 
'At  lives  'way  deep  in  the  ground,  an'  can 
Turn  into  me,  er  'Lizabuth  Ann! 
Aint  he  a  funny  old  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy!   Raggedy!   Raggedy  Man! 

The  Raggedy  Man — one  time  when  he 
Wuz  makin'  a  little  bow-'n'-orry  fer  me, 
Says  "  When  you' re  big  like  your  Pa  is, 
Air  you  go'  to  keep  a  fine  store  like  his — 
An'  be  a  rich  merchunt — an'  wear  fine  clothes? — 
Er  what  air  you  go'  to  be,  goodness  knows!  " 
An'  nen  he  laughed  at  'Lizabuth  Ann, 
An'  I  says  '"M  go'  to  be  a  Raggedy  Man ! — 
I'm  ist  go'  to  be  a  nice  Raggedy  Man !  " 
Raggedy !   Raggedy !   Raggedy  Man ! 

31 


CURLY  LOCKS 

CURLY  Locks!   Curly  Locks!  wilt  thou  be  mine? 
Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the 

swine, — 

But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  seiv  a  fine  sea  in, 
And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream. 

Curly  Locks!    Curly  Locks!   wilt  thou  be  mine? 
The  throb  of  my  heart  is  in  every  line, 
And  the  pulse  of  a  passion  as  airy  and  glad 
In  its  musical  beat  as  the  little  Prince  had ! 

32 


CURLY    LOCKS 


Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine  !- 
O  I  '11  dapple  thy  hands  with  these  kisses  of  mine 
Till  the  pink  of  the  nail  of  each  finger  shall  be 
As  a  little  pet  blush  in  full  blossom  for  me. 


But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sew  a  fine  seam, 
And  thou  shalt  have  fabric  as  fair  as  a  dream, — 
The  red  of  my  veins,  and  the  white  of  my  love, 
And  the  gold  of  my  joy  for  the  braiding  thereof. 


And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream 
From  a  service  of  silver,  with  jewels  agleam, — 
At  thy  feet  will  I  bide,  at  thy  beck  will  I  rise, 
And  twinkle  my  soul  in  the  night  of  thine  eves ! 


Curly  Locks!   Curly  Locks!  wilt  thou  be  mine? 
Thou  shalt  not  'wash  the  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine, - 
But  sit  on  a  cushion  and  sciv  a  fine  scam, 
And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream. 


34 


TWAS  a  Funny  Little  Fellow 
Of  the  very  purest  type, 
For  he  had  a  heart  as  mellow 

As  an  apple  over-ripe  ; 
And  the  brightest  little  twinkle 

When  a  funny  thing  occurred, 
And  the  lightest  little  tinkle 

Of  a  laugh  you  ever  heard ! 


His  smile  was  like  the  glitter 
Of  the  sun  in  tropic  lands, 

And  his  talk  a  sweeter  twitter 

Than  the  swallow  understands ; 

35  '    r'< 


\ 


THE    FUNNY    LITTLE    FELLOW 


Hear  him  sing — and  tell  a  story — 
Snap  a  joke — ignite  a  pun, — 

'Twas  a  capture — rapture — glory. 
And  explosion — all  in  one  ! 

Though  he  hadn't  any  money — 

That  condiment  which  tends 
To  make  a  fellow  "honey" 

For  the  palate  of  his  friends ; — 
Sweet  simples  he  compounded — 

Sovereign  antidotes  for  sin 
Or  taint, — a  faith  unbounded 

That  his  friends  were  genuine. 

He  wasn't  honored,  may  be — 

For  his  songs  of  praise  were  slim,- 
Yet  I  never  knew  a  baby 

That  wouldn't  crow  for  him  ; 
I  never  knew  a  mother 

But  urged  a  kindly  claim 
Upon  him  as  a  brother, 

At  the  mention  of  his  name. 

The  sick  have  ceased  their  sighing, 
And  have  even  found  the  grace 
36 


. 


THE    FUNNY    LITTLE    FELLOW 

Of  a  smile  when  they  were  dying 
As  they  looked  upon  his  face ; 

And  I've  seen  his  eyes  of  laughter 
Melt  in  tears  that  only  ran 

As  though,  swift  dancing  after, 
Came  the  Funny  Little  Man. 

He  laughed  away  the  sorrow, 

And  he  laughed  away  the  gloom 
We  are  all  so  prone  to  borrow 

From  the  darkness  of  the  tomb  ; 
And  he  laughed  across  the  ocean 

Of  a  happy  life,  and  passed, 
With  a  laugh  of  glad  emotion, 

Into  Paradise  at  last. 

And  I  think  the  Angels  knew  him, 

And  had  gathered  to  await 
His  coming,  and  run  to  him 

Through  the  widely-opened  Gate- 
With  their  faces  gleaming  sunny 

For  his  laughter-loving  sake, 
And  thinking,  "What  a  funny 

Little  Angel  he  will  make!  " 

39 


I'M  thist  a  little  cripple  boy,  an'  never  goin'  to  grow 
An'  git   a  great  big  man  at  all! — 'cause  Aunty  told 

me  so. 

When  I  was  thist  a  baby  onc't,  I  failed  out  of  the  bed 
An'  got  "  The  Curv'ture  of  the  Spine" — 'at's   what  the 

Doctor  said. 

I  never  had  no  Mother  nen — fer  my  Pa  runned  away 
An'    dassn't    come   back  here   no   more — 'cause  he    was 

drunk  one  day 
An'  stobbed   a  man  in  thish-ere  town,   an'    couldn't    pay 

his  fine ! 

An'  nen   my  Ma   she  died — an'   I  got  "Curv'ture  of  the 
Spine !  " 


40 


THE    HAPPY    MTTLE    CRIPPLE 

I'm    nine  years  old!   An'  you    can't    guess  how  much  I 

weigh,  I  bet! — 
Last  birthday  I  weighed  thirty-three ! — An'  I  weigh  thirty 

yet! 

I'm  awful  little  fer  my  size — I'm  purt'  nigh  littler  'nan 
Some  babies  is! — an'  neighbers  all  calls  me  "The  Little 

Man!" 
An'  Doc  one  time  he  laughed  an'   said:    "I  'spect,  first 

thing  you  know, 

You  '11  have  a  little  spike-tail  coat  an'  travel  with  a  show !  " 
An'  nen  I   laughed — till  I  looked  round  an'  Aunty  was 

a-cryin' — 
Sometimes  she  acts  like  that,  'cause  I  got  "  Curv'ture  of 

the  Spine." 

I  set — while  Aunty's  washin' — on  my  little  long-leg  stool, 
An'  watch  the  little  boys  an'  girls  a-skippin'  by  to  school ; 
An'  I  peck  on  the  winder,  an'  holler  out  an'  say : 
"Who  wants  to  fight  The  Little  Man  'at  dares  you  all  to- 
day?" 
An',  nen  the  boys  climbs  on  the  fence,  an'  little  girls 

peeks  through, 

An'  they  all  says:     "  Cause  you're  so  big,  you  think  we're 
'feard  o'you!" 

43 


THE    HAPPY    LITTLE    CRIPPLE 

An'  nen  they  yell,  an'  shake  their  fist  at  me,  like  I  shake 

mine — 
They're   thist  in  fun,  you   know,   'cause  I  got  "Curv'ture 

of  the  Spine!" 

At  evening,  when  the  ironin's  done,  an'  Aunty's  fixed  the 

fire, 
An'    filled   an'   lit    the    lamp,   an'   trimmed  the    wick  an' 

turned  it  higher, 
An'    fetched  the  wood    all    in  fer   night,   an'   locked    the 

kitchen  door, 
An'  stuffed    the  ole  crack  where  the  wind  blows   in   up 

through  the  floor — 

She  sets  the  kittle  on  the  coals,  an'  biles  an'  makes  the  tea, 
An'  fries  the  liver  an'  the  mush,  an'  cooks  a  egg  fer  me; 
An'  sometimes — when  I  cough  so  hard — her  elderberry 

wine 
Don't  go   so  bad  fer  little  boys  with   "Curv'ture   of  the 

Spine!  " 

But  Aunty's  all  so  childish-like  on  my  account,  you  see, 
I'm  'most  afeard  she'll  be  took  down — an'   'at's  what 
bothers  me  ! — 


THE    HAPPY    LITTLE    CRIPPLE 

'Cause  ef  my  good  ole  aunty  ever  would  git  sick  an'  die, 
I  don't  know  what  she'd  do  in  heaven — till  I  come,  by 

an'  by: — 

Fer  she's  so  ust  to  all  my  ways,  an'  ever' thing,  you  know, 
An'  no  one  there  like  me,  to  miss  an'  worry  over  so! — 
'Cause  all  the  little  childerns  there's  so  straight  an'  strong 

an'  fine, 
They's  nary  angel  'bout  the  place  with  "Curv'ture  of  the 

spinel  " 


THE  RIDER  OF  THE  KNEE 


NIGHTLY  Rider  of  the  Knee 
1  v      Of  Proud-prancing  Unclery ! 
Gaily  mount,  and  wave  the  sign 
Of  that  mastery  of  thine. 

Pat  thy  steed  and  turn  him  free, 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee! 
Sit  thy  charger  as  a  throne — 
Lash  him  with  thy  laugh  alone: 

Sting  him  only  with  the  spur 
Of  such  wit  as  may  occur, 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee, 
In  thy  shriek  of  ecstasy. 

Would,  as  now,  we  might  endure, 
Twain  as  one — thou  miniature 
Ruler,  at  the  rein  of  me — 
Knightly  Rider  of  the  Knee ! 

48 


NOON-TIME  an'  June-time,  down  around  the  river ! 
Have  to  furse  with  'Lizey  Ann — but  lawzy!   I  fer- 

give  her! 

Drives  me  off  the  place,  an'  says  'at  all  'at  she's  a-wishin', 
Land  o'  gracious!   time'll  come  I'll  git  enough  o'  fishin' ! 
Little  Dave,  a-choppin'  wood,  never  'pears  to  notice; 
Don't  know  where. she's  hid  his  hat,  er  keerin'  where  his 

coat  is, — 

Specalatin',  more'n  like,  he  haint  a-goin'  to  mind  me, 
An'  guessin'  where,  say  twelve  o'clock,   a  feller'd  likely 
find  me ! 


51 


DOWN    AROUND    THE    RIVER 

Noon-time  an'  June-time,  clown  around  the  river! 
Clean  out  o'  sight  o'  home,  an'  skulkin'  under  kivver 
Of  the  sycamores,  jack-oaks,  an'  swamp-ash  an'  ell um — 
Idies  all  so  jumbled  up,  you  kin  hardly  tell  'em  !  — 
Tired,  you  know,  but  levin1  it,  an'  smilin'  jes'  to  think  'at 
Any  sweeter  tiredness  you'd  fairly  want  to  drink  it! 
Tired  o'  fishin' — tired  o'  fun — line  out  slack  an'  slacker — 
All  you  want  in  all  the   world's  a  little  more  tobacker! 

Hungry,  but  a-hidiri'  it,  er  jes'  a-not  a-keerin' :  — 
King-fisher  gittin'  up  an'  skootin'  out  o'  hearin' ; 
Snipes  on  the  t'other  side,  where  the  County  Ditch  is, 
Wadin'   up   an'   down  the  aidge  like    they'd    rolled  their 

britches ! 

Old  turkle  on  the  root  kindo-sorto  drappin' 
Intoo  th'  worter  like  he  don't  know  how  it  happen! 
Worter,  shade  an'  all  so  mixed,  don't  know  which  you'd 

orter 
Say;   th'  worter  in  the  shadder — shaddcr  in  the  worter  I 


Somebody  hollerin' — 'way  around  the  bend  in 
Upper  Fork — where  y'er  eye  kin  jes'  ketch  the  endin' 


DOWN    AROUND    THE    RIVER 

Of  the  shiney  wedge  o'  wake  some  muss-rat's  a-makin' 
With  that  pesky  nose  o'  his !   Then  a  sniff  o'  bacon, 
Corn-bred  an'  'dock-greens — an'  little  Dave  a-shinnin' 
'Crost  the  rocks  an'  mussel-shells,  a-limpin'  an'  a-grinnin', 
With  yer  dinner  fer  ye,  an'  a  blessin'  from  the  giver, 
Noon-time  an'  June-time  down  around  the  river! 


ONE  time,  when  we'z  at  Aunty's  house — 
'Way  in  the  country  I — where 
They's  ist  but  woods — an'  pigs,  an'  cows — 

An'  all's  out-doors  an'  air! — 
An'  orchurd-swing;    an'  churry-trees — 
An'  churrics  in  'em! — Yes,  an'  these- 
Here  red-head  birds  steals  all  they  please, 

An'  tetch  'em  ef  you  dare! — 
W'y,  wunst,  one  time,  when  we  wuz  there, 
We  et  out  on  the  porch  ! 
56 


AT  AUNTY'S  HOUSE 

Wite  where  the  cellar-door  wuz  shut 

The  table  wuz  ;   an'  I 
Let  Aunty  set  by  me  an*  cut 

My  vittuls  up — an'  pie. 
'Tuz  awful  funny! — I  could  see 
The  red-heads  in  the  churry-tree ; 
An'  bee-hives,  where  you  got  to  be 

So  keerful,  goin'  by; — 
An'  "Comp'ny"  there  an'  all! — an'  we— 

We  ct  out  on  the  porch  I 

An'  I  ist  et  p'surves  an'  things 

'At  Ma  don't  'low  me  to — 
An'  chickun-gizzurds — (don't  like  wings 

Like  Parunts  does  !   do  you?) 
An'  all  the  time,  the  wind  blowed  there, 
An'  I  could  feel  it  in  my  hair, 
An'  ist  smell  clover  ever' where! — 

An'  a'  old  red-head  flew 
Purt'  nigh  wite  over  my  high-chair, 

When  ive  et  on  the  porch  ! 


THE  DAYS  GONE  BY 

OTHE  days  gone  by!    O  the  days  gone  by! 
The  apples  in  the  orchard,  and  the  pathway  through 

the  rye ; 

The  chirrup  of  the  robin,  and  the  whistle  of  the  quail 
As  he  piped  across  the  meadows  sweet  as  any  nightingale  ; 
When  the  bloom  was  on  the  clover,   and  the  blue  was  in 

the  sky, 
And  my  happy  heart  brimmed  over,  in  the  days  gone  by. 


THE    DAYS    GONE    BY 

In  the  days  gone  by,  when  my  naked  feet  were  tripped 
By  the  honey  suckle  tangles  where  the  water-lilies  dipped, 
And  the  ripples  of  the  river  lipped  the  moss  along  the  brink 
Where  the  placid-eyed  and  lazy-footed  cattle  came  to  drink, 
And  the  tilting  snipe  stood  fearless  of  the  truant's  wayward 

cry 
And  the  splashing  of  the  swimmer,  in  the  days  gone  by. 

O  the  days  gone  by!   O  the  days  gone  by! 
The  music  of  the  laughing  lip,  the  lustre  of  the  eye ; 
The  childish  faith  in  fairies,  and  Aladdin's  magic  ring — 
The  simple,  soul-reposing,  glad  belief  in  everything, — 
When  life  was  like  a  story,  holding  neither  sob  nor  sigh, 
In  the  golden  olden  glory  of  the  days  gone  by. 


THE  BUMBLEBEE 


YOU  better  not  fool  with  a  Bumblebee!  — 
Ef  you  don't  think  they  can  sting — you'll  see! 
They're  lazy  to  look  at,  an'  kindo'  go 
Buzzin'  an'  bummin'  aroun'  so  slow, 
An'  ac'  so  slouchy  an'  all  fagged  out, 
Danglin'  their  legs  as  they  drone  about 
The  hollyhawks  'at  they  can't  climb  in 
'Ithout  ist  a-tumble-un  out  agin ! 
Wunst  I  watched  one  climb  clean  'way 
In  a  jim' son-blossom,  I  did,  one  day, — 
An'  I  ist  grabbed  it — an'  nen  let  go — 
An'  "Oo/i-ook!  Honey!  I  told  yc  so!" 
Says  The  Raggedy  Man  ;   an'  he  ist  run 
An'  pullt  out  the  stinger,  an'   don't  laugh  none, 
An'  says:    "They  has  ben  folks,  I  guess, 
'At  thought  I  wuz  predjudust,  more  er  less, — 
Yit  I  still  muntain  'at  a  Bumblebee 
Wears  out  his  welcome  too  quick  fer  me  !  " 
64 


THE  BOY  lives  on  our  Farm,  he's  not 
Afeard  o'  horses  none  I 
An'  he  can  make  'em  lope,  er  trot, 

Er  rack,  er  pace,  er  run. 
Sometimes  he  drives  two  horses,  when 

He  comes  to  town  an'  brings 
A.  wagon-full  o'  'raters  nen, 

An'  roastin'-ears  an'  things. 
67 


THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM 

Two  horses  is  "  a  team,"  he  says, — 

An'  when  you  drive  er  hitch, 
The  right-un's  a  "near-horse,"  I  guess, 

Er  "off" — I   don't  know  which. — 
The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm,  he  told 

Me,  too,  'at  he  can  see, 
By  lookin'  at  their  teeth,  how  old 

A  horse  is,  to  a  T ! 

I'd  be  the  gladdest  boy  alive 

Ef  I  knowed  much  as  that, 
An'  could  stand  up  like  him  an'  drive, 

An'  ist  push  back  my  hat, 
Like  he  comes  skallyhootin'  through 

Our  alley,  with  one  arm 
A-wavin'  Fare-ye-well !   to  you — 

The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm ! 


Tfy 


e 

P 

IWe  yHeJked  yHe. 

UNCLE  Sidney,  when  he  wuz  here, 
Maked  me  a  squirtgun  out  o'  some 
Elder-bushes  'at  growed  out  near 
Where  wuz  the  brickyard — 'way  out  clear 
To  where  the  toll-gate  come ! 

So  when  we  walked  back  home  again, 

He  maked  it,  out  in  our  woodhouse  where 
Wuz  the  old  workbench,  an'  the  old  jack-plane, 
An'  the  old  'pokeshave,  an'  the  tools  all  lay'n' 
1st  like  he  wants  'em  there. 

He  sawed  it  first  with  the  old  hand-saw ; 

An'  nen  he  peeled  off  the  bark,  an'  got 
Some  glass  an'  scraped  it;  an'  told  'bout  Pa, 
When  he  wuz  a  boy  an'  fooled  his  Ma, 
An'  the  whippin'  'at  he  caught. 


THE  SQUIRTGUN  UNCLE  MAKED  ME 

Nen  Uncle  Sidney,  he  took  an'  filed 

A'  old  arn  ramrod ;  an'  one  o'  the  ends 
lie  screwed  fast  into  the  vise;   an'  smiled, 
Thinkin',  he  said,  o'  when  he  wuz  a  child, 
'Fore  him  an'  Pa  wuz  inens. 

lie  punched  out  the  peth,  an'  nen  he  put 

A  plug  in  the  end  with  a  hole  notched  through  : 
Nen  took  the  old  drawey-knife  an'  cut 
An'  maked  a  handle  'at  shoved  clean  shut 
But  ist  where  yer  hand  held  to. 

An'  he  wropt  th'uther  end  with  some  string  an'  white 

Piece  o'  the  sleeve  of  a'  old  tored  shirt ; 
An'  nen  he  showed  me  to  hold  it  tight, 
An'  suck  in  the  water  an'  work  it  right 
An'  it  'ud  ist  squirt  an'  squirt! 


OLD  Tramp  slep'  in  our  stable 

\vunst, 
An'  The  Raggedy  Man  he  caught 

'  roust  him  up,  an'  chased  him  off 
Clean  out  through  our  back  lot! 


An'  th'  Old  Tramp  hollered  back  an'  said, — 
f  "  You  're  a purty  man! — Ton  air! — 
With  a  pair  o' eyes  like  two  fried  eggs, 
An'  a  nose  like  a  Bartlutt  pear! " 


OLD  AUNT  MARY'S 

WAS  N'T  it  pleasant,  O  brother  mine, 
In  those  old  days  of  the  lost  sunshine 
Of  youth — when  the  Saturday's  chores  were  through, 
And  the  "Sunday's  wood"  in  the  kitchen,  too, 
And  we  went  visiting,  "me  and  you," 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's? 

It  all  comes  back  so  clear  to-day ! 
Though  I  am  as  bald  as  you  are  gray — 
Out  by  the  barn-lot,  and  down  the  lane, 
We  patter  along  in  the  dust  again, 
As  light  as  the  tips  of  the  drops  of  the  rain, 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's! 

We  cross  the  pasture,  and  through  the  wood 
Where  the  old  gray  snag  of  the  poplar  stood. 
Where  the  hammering  "red-heads"  hopped  awry. 
And  the  buzzard  "  raised  "  in  the  "clearing"  sky 
And  lolled  and  circled,  as  we  went  by 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 

And  then  in  the  dust  of  the  road  again; 
And  the  teams  we  met,  and  the  countrymen  ; 
76 


OLD    AUNT    MARY  S 

And  the  long  highway,  with  sunshine  spread 
As  thick  as  butter  on  country  bread, 
Our  cares  behind,  and  our  hearts  ahead 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 

Why,  I  see  her  now  in  the  open  door, 

Where  the  little  gourds  grew  up  the  sides  and  o'er 

The  clapboard  roof! — And  her  face — ah,  me! 

Wasn't  it  good  for  a  boy  to  see — 

And  wasn't  it  good  for  a  boy  to  be 

Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's? 

And  O  my  brother,  so  far  away, 
This  is  to  tell  you  she  waits  to-day 
To  welcome  us: — Aunt  Mary  fell 
Asleep  this  morning,  whispering,  "Tell 
The  boys  to  come!  "     And  all  is  wrell 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 


WINTER  without 
And  warmth  within ; 
The  winds  may  shout 

And  the  storm  begin  ; 
The  snows  may  pack 

At  the  window  pane, 
And  the  skies  grow  black, 

And  the  sun  remain 
Hidden  away 

The  livelong  day — 

But  here — in  here  is  the  warmth  of  May ! 
So 


WINTER    FANCIES 
II 

Swoop  your  spitefullest 
Up  the  flue, 
Wild  Winds— do ! 

What  in  the  world  do  I  care  for  you? 
O  delightfullest 

Weather  of  all, 
Howl  and  squall, 
And  shake  the  trees  till  the  last  leaves  fall! 


Ill 

The  joy  one  feels, 

In  an  easy  chair, 
Cocking  his  heels 

In  the  dancing  air 

That  wreathes  the  rim  of  a  roaring  stove 
Whose  heat  loves  better  than  hearts  can  love, 
Will  not  permit 

The  coldest  day 

To  drive  away 
The  fire  in  his  blood,  and  the  bliss  of  it! 


WINTER    FANCIES 
IV 

Then  blow,  Winds,  blow! 

And  rave  and  shriek, 
And  snarl  and  snow 

Till  your  breath  grows  weak 
While  here  in  my  room 

I  'm  as  snugly  shut 
As  a  glad  little  worm 

In  the  heart  of  a  nut! 


WUNST  I  sassed  my  Pa,  an'  he 
Won't  stand  that,  an'  punished  me,— 
Nen  when  he  was  gone  that  day, 
I  slipped  out  an'  runned  away. 

I  tooked  all  my  copper-cents, 
An'  clumbed  over  our  back  fence 
In  the  jimpson-weeds  'at  growed 
Ever'where  all  down  the  road. 

Nen  I  got  out  there,  an'  nen 

I  runned  some — an'  runned  again 

When  I  met  a  man  'at  led 

A  big  cow  'at  shocked  her  head. 


THE    RUNAWAY    BOY 

I  went  down  a  long,  long  lane 
Where  was  little  pigs  a-play'n'  ; 
An'  a  grea'-big  pig  went  "  Booh  !  " 
An'  jumped  up,  an'  skeered  me  too. 

Nen  I  scampered  past,  an'  they 
Was  somebody  hollered  "Hey!  " 
An'  I  ist  looked  ever'where, 
An'  they  was  nobody  there. 

I  Want  to,  but  I'm  'fraid  to  try 
To  go  back.   .    .    .An'  by-an'-byv 
Somepin'  hurts  my  throat  inside — 
An'  I  want  my  Ma — an'  cried. 

Nen  a  grea'-big  girl  come  through 
Where's  a  gate,  an'  tellecl  me  who 
Am  I?  an'  ef  I  tell  where 
My  home's  at  she'll  show  me  there. 

But  I  couldn't  ist  but  tell 
What's  my  name;   an'  she  says  well, 
An'  she  tooked  me  up  an'  says 
She  know  where  I  live,  she  guess. 
86 


THE    RUNAWAY    BOY 

Nen  she  telled  me  hug  wite  close 
Round  her  neck! — an'  off  she  goes 
Skippin'  up  the  street!    An'  nen 
Purty  soon  I  'm  home  again. 

An'  my  Ma,  when  she  kissed  me, 
Kissed  the  big  girl  too,  an'  she 
Kissed  me — ef  I  p'omise  shore 
I  won't  run  away  no  more! 


THE  LITTLE  COAT 

HERE'S  his  ragged  " roundabout : 
Turn  the  pockets  inside  out : 
See  ;  his  pen-knife,  lost  to  use, 
Rusted  shut  with  apple-juice; 
Here,  with  marbles,  top  and  string, 
Is  his  deadly  "devil-sling-," 
With  its  rubber,  limp  at  last 
As  the  sparrows  of  the  past ! 
Beeswax — buckles — leather  straps — 
Bullets,  and  a  box  of  caps, — 
Not  a  thing  of  all,  I  guess, 
But  betrays  some  waywardness — 
E'en  these  tickets,  blue  and  red, 
For  the  Bible- verses  said — 
Such  as  this  his  mem'ry  kept — 

"Jesus  wept. 


90 


THE    LITTLE    COAT 

Here's  a  fishing  hook-and-line, 

Tangled  up  with  wire  and  twine, 

And  dead  angle-worms,  and  some 

Slugs  of  lead  and  chewing  gum, 

Blent  with  scents  that  can  but  come 

From  the  oil  of  rhodium. 

Here — a  soiled,  yet  dainty  note, 

That  some  little  sweetheart  wrote, 

Dotting — "Vine  grows  round  the  stump,' 

And — "  My  sweetest  sugar  lump!  " 

Wrapped  in  this — a  padlock  key 

Where  he's  filed  a  touch-hole — see! 

And  some  powder  in  a  quill 

Corked  up  with  a  liver  pill ; 

And  a  spongy  little  chunk 

Of  "punk." 

Here's  the  little  coat — but  O  ! 
Where  is  he  we've  censured  so ! 
Don't  you  hear  us  calling,  dear? 
Back !  come  back,  and  never  fear. — 
You  may  wander  where  you  will, 
Over  orchard,  field  and  hill; 


93 


THE    LITTLE    COAT 

You  may  kill  the  birds,  or  do 
Anything  that  pleases  you  ! 
Ah,  this  empty  coat  of  his ! 
Every  tatter  worth  a  kiss ; 
Every  stain  as  pure  instead 
As  the  white  stars  overhead : 
And  the  pockets — homes  were  they 
Of  the  little  hands  that  play 
Now  no  more — but,  absent,  thus 

Beckon  us. 


AN  IMPETUOUS  RESOLVE 

WHEN  little  Dickie  Swope's  a  man, 
He's  go'  to  be  a  Sailor; 
An'  little  Hamey  Tincher,  he's 

A-go'  to  be  a  Tailor: 
Bud  Mitchell,  he's  a-go'  to  be 

A  stylish  Carriage-Maker ; 
An'  when  /grow  a  grea'-big  man, 
I'm  go'  to  be  a  Baker  ! 


95 


AN    IMPETUOUS    RESGI.VK 

An'  Dick'll  buy  his  sailor-suit 
O'  Hame;    and  Hame'll  take  it 

An'  buy  as  fine  a  double-rigg 
As  ever  Bud  can  make  it: 

An'  nen  all  three'll  drive  roun'  fer  me 
An'  we'll  drive  off  tosrevvcr, 

o 

A-slingin'  pie-crust  'long  the  road 
Ferever  an'  ferever  ! 


JES'  a  little  bit  o'  feller — I  remember  still — 
Ust  to  almost  cry  fer  Christmas,  like  a  youngster  will. 
Fourth  o'  July's  nothin'  to  it ! — New  Year's  ain't  a  smell ! 
Easter-Sunday — Circus-day — jes'  all  dead  in  the  shell ! 
Lawzy,  though !  at  night,  you  know,  to  set  around  an'  hear 
The  old  folks  work  the  story  off  about  the  sledge  an'  deer, 
An'  "Santy"  skootin'  round  the  roof,  all  wrapt  in  fur  an' 

fuzz — 
Long  afore 

I  knowed  who 

"  Santy-Claus"  wuz! 

99 


WHO    SANTY-CLAUS    WUZ 

Ust  to  wait,  an'  set  up  late,  a  week  er  two  ahead ; 
Couldn't   hardly  keep  awake,  ner  wouldn't  go  to  bed ; 
Kittle  stewin'  on  the  fire,  an'  Mother  settin'  here 
Darnin'  socks,  an'  rockin'  in  the  skreeky  rockin '-cheer ; 
Pap  gap',  an'  wonder  where  it  wuz  the  money  went, 
An'  quar'l  with  his  frosted  heels,  an'  spill  his  liniment; 
An'  me  a-dreamin'  sleigh-bells  when  the  clock  'ud  whir 

an'  buzz, 
Long  afore 

I  knowed  who 

" Santy-Claus  "  wuz! 


Size  the  fire-place  up  an'  figger  how  "Ole  Santy"  could 
Manage  to   come   down   the  chimbly,   like    they  said   he 

would ; 
Wisht  'at  I  could  hide  an'  see  him — wunderd  what    he'd 

say 

Ef  he  ketched  a  feller  layin'  fer  him  thataway! 
But  I  bet  on  him,  an'  liked  him,  same  as  ef  he  had 
Turned  to  pat  me  on  the  back  an'  say,    "Look  here,  my 

lad, 


100 


WHO    SANTY-CLAUS    WUZ 

Here's   my  pack, — jes'  he'p  yourse'f,  like  all  good  boys 

does!" 
Long  afore 

I  knowed  who 

"Santy-Claus"  wuz! 

Wisht  that  yarn  was  true  about  him,  as  it  'peared  to  be — 
Truth  made  out  o'  lies  like  that-un's  good  enough  fer  me ! — 
Wisht  I  still  wuz  so  confidin'  I  could  jes'  go  wild 
Over  hangin'  up  my  stockin's,  like  the  little  child 
Climbin'  in  my  lap  to-night,  an'  beggin'  me  to  tell 
'Bout  them  reindeers,  and  "Old  Santy  "  that  she  loves  so 

well 

I'm  half  sorry  fer  this  little-girl-sweetheart  of  his — 
Long  afore 

She  knows  who 

"Santy-Claus"  is! 


THE  NINE  LITTLE  GOBLINS' 

ft 
<> 

THEY  all  climbed  up  on  a  high  board-fence — 
Nine  little  Goblins,  with  green-glass  eyes — 
Nine  little  Goblins  that  had  no  sense, 

And  couldn't  tell  coppers  from  cold  mince  pies; 

And  they  all  climbed  up  on  the  fence,  and  sat — 
And  I  asked  them  what  they  were  staring  at. 

And  the  first  one  said,  as  he  scratched  his  head 

With  a  queer  little  arm  that  reached  out  of  his  ear 
And  rasped  its  claws  in  his  hair  so  red — 
"This  is  what  this  little  arm  is  fer!  " 

And  he  scratched  and  stared,  and  the  next  one  said 
"How  on  earth  do  you  scratch  your  head?" 

And  he  laughed  like  the  screech  of  a  rusty  hinge — 
Laughed  and  laughed  till  his  face  grew  black ; 
And  when  he  choked,  with  a  final  twinge 

Of  his  stifling  laughter,  he  thumped  his  back 
With  a  fist  that  grew  on  the  end  of  his  tail 
Till  the  breath  came,  back  to  his  lips  so  pale. 
104 


THE    NINE    LITTLE    GOBLINS 

And  the  third  little  Goblin  leered  round  at  me — 
And  there  were  no  lids  on  his  eyes  at  all — 
And  he  clucked  one  eye,  and  he  says,  says  he, 
"What  is  the  style  of  your  socks  this  fall?" 

And  he  clapped  his  heels — and  I  sighed  to  see 
That  he  had  hands  where  his  feet  should  be. 
Then  a  bald-faced  Goblin,  gray  and  grim, 
Bowed  his  head,  and  I  saw  him  slip 
His  eyebrows  off,  as  I  looked  at  him, 
And  paste  them  over  his  upper  lip ; 

And  then  he  moaned  in  remorseful  pain — 
"  Would — Ah,  would  I'd  me  brows  again!  " 
And  then  the  whole  of  the  Goblin  band 

Rocked  on  the  fence-top  to  and  fro, 
And  clung,  in  a  long  row,  hand  in  hand, 

Singing  the  songs  that  they  used  to  know — 

Singing  the  songs  that  their  grandsires  sung 
In  the  goo-goo  days  of  the  Goblin-tongue. 
And  ever  they  kept  their  green-glass  eyes 

Fixed  on  me  with  a  stony  stare — 
Till  my  own  grew  glazed  with  a  dread  surmise, 
And  my  hat  whooped  up  on  my  lifted  hair, 
And  I  felt  the  heart  in  my  breast  snap  to 
As  you've  heard  the  lid  of  a  snuff-box  do. 
107 


THE    NINE    LITTLE    GOBLINS 

And  they  sang  "You're  asleep!   There  is  no  board-fence, 
And  never  a  Goblin  with  green-glass  eyes! — 

"Pis  only  a  vision  the  mind  invents 

After  a  supper  of  cold  mince-pies, — 

And  you're  doomed  to  dream  this  way,"  they  said, — 

"And  you  ska' n't  -wake  up  till  you're  clean  plum  dead  !  " 


£ff         yj 

aVv-^ 


\V 


TIME  of  crisp  and  tawny  leaves, 
And  of  tarnished  harvest  sheaves, 
And  of  dusty  grasses — weeds — 
Thistles,  with  their  tufted  seeds 
Voyaging  the  Autumn  breeze 
Like  as  fairy  argosies: 
Time  of  quicker  flash  of  wings, 
And  of  clearer  twitterings 
In  the  grove,  or  deeper  shade 
Of  the  tangled  everglade, — 
Where  the  spotted  water-snake 
Coils  him  in  the  sunniest  brake ; 
And  the  bittern,  as  in  fright, 
Darts,  in  sudden,  slanting  flight, 
Southward,  while  the  startled  crane 
Films  his  eyes  in  dreams  again. 

109 


TIME    OF    CLEARER    TWITTERINGS 
II 

Down  along  the  dwindled  creek 
We  go  loitering.     We  speak 
Only  with  old  questionings 
Of  the  dear  remembered  things 
Of  the  days  of  long  ago, 
When  the  stream  seemed  thus  and  so 
In  our  boyish  eyes  : — The  bank 
Greener  then,  through  rank  on  rank 
Of  the  mottled  sycamores, 
Touching  tops  across  the  shores: 
Here,  the  hazel  thicket  stood — 
There,  the  almost  pathless  wood 
Where  the  shellbark  hickory  tree 
Rained  its  wealth  on  you  and  me. 
Autumn!   as  you  loved  us  then, 
Take  us  to  your  heart  again ! 

Ill 

Season  halest  of  the  year ! 
How  the  zestful  atmosphere 
Nettles  blood  and  brain,  and  smites 
Into  life  the  old  delights 
We  have  wasted  in  our  youth, 
And  our  graver  years,  forsooth  ! 
How  again  the  boyish  heart 
Leaps  to  see  the  chipmunk  start 

no 


TIME    OF    CLEARER    TWITTERINGS 

From  the  brush  and  sleek  the  sun's 
Very  beauty,  as  he  runs ! 
How  again  a  subtle  hint 
Of  crushed  pennyroyal  or  mint, 
Sends  us  on  our  knees,  as  when 
We  were  truant  boys  of  ten — 
Brown  marauders  of  the  wood, 
Merrier  than  Robin  Hood ! 

IV 

Ah !  will  any  minstrel  say, 

In  his  sweetest  roundelay, 

What  is  sweeter,  after  all, 

Than  black  haws,  in  early  Fall — 

Fruit  so  sweet  the  frost  first  sat, 

Dainty-toothed,  and  nibbled  at! 

And  will  any  poet  sing 

Of  a  lusher,  richer  thing 

Than  a  ripe  May-apple,  rolled 

Like  a  pulpy  lump  of  gold 

Under  thumb  and  finger-tips, 

And  poured  molten  through  the  lips? 

Go,  ye  bards  of  classic  themes, 

Pipe  your  songs  by  classic  streams! 

I  would  twang  the  redbird's  wings 

In  the  thicket  while  he  sings! 

"3 


THE   CIRCUS-DAY   PARADE 


O' 


Circus-Day  parade!    How  the  bugles  played 

and  played ! 
And  how  the  glossy  horses  tossed  their  flossy  manes,  and 

neighed, 

As  the  rattle  and  the  rhyme  of  the  tenor-drummer's  time 
Filled  all  the  hungry  hearts  of  us  with  melody  sublime ! 

How  the  grand  band-wagon  shone  with  a  splendor  all  its 

own, 
And  glittered  with   a  glory   that  our  dreams   had  never 

known ! 

And  how  the  boys  behind,  high  and  low  of  every  kind, 
Marched  in  unconscious  capture,  with  a  rapture  undefined! 

How  the  horsemen,  two  and  two,  with  their  plumes  of  white 

and  blue, 

And  crimson,  gold  and  purple,  nodding  by  at  me  and  you, 
Waved  the  banners  that  they  bore,  as  the  Knights  in  days 

of  yore, 
Till  our  glad  eyes  gleamed  and  glistened  like  the  spangles 

that  they  wore ! 

114 


THE    CIRCUS-DAY    PARADE 

How  the  graceless-graceful  stride  of  the  elephant  was  eyed, 
And  the  capers  of  the  little  horse  that  cantered  at  his  side ! 

How  the  shambling  camels,  tame  to  the  plaudits  of  their 
fame, 

With  listless  eyes  came  silent,  masticating  as  they  came. 


How  the  cages  jolted  past,  with  each  wagon  battened  fast, 
And  the  mystery  within  it  only  hinted  of  at  last 
From  the  little  grated  square  in  the  rear,  and  nosing  there 
The  snout  of  some  strange  animal  that  sniffed  the  outer 

air! 

117 


THE     CIRCUS-DAY    PARADE 


And,    last  of  all,  The  Clown,   making  mirth  for  all  the 

town, 
With  his  lips  curved  ever  upward  and  his  eyebrows  ever 

down, 

And  his  chief  attention  paid  to  the  little  mule  that  played 
A  tattoo  on  the  dashboard  with  his  heels,  in  the  parade. 


Oh!  the  Circus-Day  parade!    How  the  bugles  played  and 

played ! 
And  how  the  glossy  horses  tossed  their  flossy  manes  and 

neighed, 

As  the  rattle  and  the  rhyme  of  the  tenor-drummer's  time 
Filled  all  the  hungry  hearts -of  us  with  melody  sublime! 


rhyme  o'  The  Raggedy  Man's  'at's  best 
1       Is  Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs,- 
'Cause  that-un's  the  strangest  of  all  o'  the  rest, 
An'  the  worst  to  learn,  an'  the  last  one  guessed, 
An'  the  funniest  one,  an'  the  foolishest. — 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs  I 


I  don't  know  what  in  the  world  it  means — 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! — 
An'  nen  when  I  tell  him  I  don't,  he  leans 
Like  he  was  a-grindin'  on  some  machines 
An'  says:   Ef  I  don't,  w'y,  I  don't  know  beans! 
Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs ! 
119 


THE    LUGUBRIOUS    WHING-WHANG 

Out  on  the  margin  of  Moonshine  Land, 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 
Out  where  the  Whing-Whang  loves  to  stand, 
Writing  his  name  with  his  tail  in  the  sand, 
And  swiping  it  out  with  his  oogerish  hand ; 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 

Is  it  the  gibber  of  Gungs  or  Keeks  ? 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 
Or  what  is  the  sound  that  the  Whing-Whang  seeks  ?- 
Crouching  low  by  the  winding  creeks 
And  holding  his  breath  for  weeks  and  weeks ! 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs! 


Aroint  him  the  wraithest  of  wraithly  things ! 

Tickle  me,  Love,  in  these  Lonesome  Ribs ! 
'Tis  a  fair  Whing-Whangess,  with  phosphor  rings, 
And  bridal-jewels  of  fangs  and  stings ; 
And  she  sits  and  as  sadly  and  softly  sings 
As  the  mildewed  whir  of  her  own  dead  wings, — 
Tickle  me,  Dear, 
Tickle  me  here, 
e  me,  Love,  in  me  Lonesome  Ribs! 


120 


LAWZY!  don't  I  rickollect 
That-' air  old  swing  in  the  lane! 
Right  and  proper,  I  expect, 

Old  times  can't  come  back  again ; 
But  I  want  to  state,  ef  they 
Could  come  back,  and  I  could  say 
What  my  pick  'ud  be,  i  jing! 
I'd  say,  Gimme  the  old  swing 
'Nunder  the  old  locus'-trees 
On  the  old  place,  ef  you  please! — 
Danglin'  there  with  half-shet  eye, 
Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die ! 


121 


WAITIN'  FER  THE  CAT  TO  DIE 

I'd  say,  Gimme  the  old  gang 

Of  barefooted,  hungry,  lean, 
Ornry  boys  you  want  to  hang 

When  you're  growed  up  twic't  as  mean! 
The  old  gyarden-patch,  the  old 
Truants,  and  the  stuff  we  stol'd! 
The  old  stompin'-groun',  where  we 
Wore  the  grass  off,  wild  and  free 
As  the  swoop  of  the  old  swing, 
Where  we  ust  to  climb  and  cling, 
And  twist  roun',  and  fight,  and  lie — 
Waitm'  fer  the  cat  to  die ! 

'Pears  like  I  'most  allus  could 
Swing  the  highest  of  the  crowd — 

Jes  sail  up  there  tel  I  stood 

Downside-up,  and  screech  out  loud, — 

Ketch  my  breath,  and  jes  drap  back 

Fer  to  let  the  old  swing  slack, 

Yit  my  tow-head  dippin'  still 

In  the  green  boughs,  and  the  chill 

Up  my  backbone  taperin'  down, 

With  my  shadder  on  the  groun' 

Slow  and  slower  trailin'  by— 

Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die ! 
122 


WAITIN'  PER  THE  CAT  TO  DIE 

Now  my  daughter's  little  Jane's 

Got  a  kind  o'  baby-swing 
On  the  porch,  so's  when  it  rains 

She  kin  play  there — little  thing! 
And  I'd  limped  out  t'other  day 
With  my  old  cheer  this-a-way, 
Swingin'  her  and  rockin'  too, 
Thinkin'  how  7  ust  to  do 
At  her  age,  when  suddently, 
"  Hey,  Gran'pap!  "  she  says  to  me, 
"  Why  you  rock  so  slow  ?"   .   .   .   Says  I, 
"Waitin'  fer  the  cat  to  die!" 


(HEN  Little  Claude  was  naughty  wunst 

At  dinner-time,  an'  said 
He  wo'nt  say  "Thank you"  to  his  Ma, 

She  maked  him  go  to  bed 
An'  stay  two  hours  an'  not  git  up, — 

So  when  the  clock  struck  Two, 
Nen  Claude  says, — "Thank  you,  Mr.  Clock, 
I  'm  much  obleeged  to  you!  " 


OTHE  South  Wind  and  the  Sun ! 
How  each  loved  the  other  one — 
Full  of  fancy— full  of  folly- 
Full  of  jollity  and  fun  ! 
How  they  romped  and  ran  about, 
Like  two  boys  when  school  is  out, 
With  glowing  face,  and  lisping  lip, 
Low  laugh,  and  lifted  shout! 

And  the  South  Wind — he  was  dressed 
With  a  ribbon  round  his  breast 

That  floated,  flapped  and  fluttered 
In  a  riotous  unrest ; 
And  a  drapery  of  mist, 
From  the  shoulder  and  the  wrist 

Flowing  backward  with  the  motion 
Of  the  waving  hand  he  kissed. 
127 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

And  the  Sun  had  on  a  crown 
Wrought  of  gilded  thistledown, 

And  a  scarf  of  velvet  vapor, 

And  a  raveled-rainbow  gown ; 
And  his  tinsel-tangled  hair, 
Tossed  and  lost  upon  the  air, 

Was  glossier  and  flossier 
Than  any  anywhere. 

And  the  South  Wind's  eyes  were  two 

Little  dancing  drops  of  dew, 
As  he  puffed  his  cheeks,  and  pursed  his  lips, 

And  blew  and  blew  and  blew ! 

And  the  Sun's — like  diamond-stone, 

Brighter  yet  than  ever  known, 
As  he  knit  his  brows  and  held  his  breath, 

And  shone  and  shone  and  shone ! 

And  this  pair  of  merry  fays 
Wandered  through  the  summer  days ; 

Arm-in-arm  they  went  together 

Over  heights  of  morning  haze — 
Over  slanting  slopes  of  lawn 
They  went  on  and  on  and  on, 

Where  the  daisies  looked  like  star-tracks 
Trailing  up  and  down  the  dawn. 
128 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 


And  where'er  they  found  the  top 

Of  a  wheat-stalk  droop  and  lop, 
They  chucked  it  underneath  the  chin 

And  praised  the  lavish  crop, 

Till  it  lifted  with  the  pride 

Of  the  heads  it  grew  beside, 
And  then  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun 

Went  onward  satisfied. 

Over  meadow-lands  they  tripped, 
Where  the  dandelions  dipped 

In  crimson  foam  of  clover  bloom 

And  dripped  and  dripped  and  dripped ! 
And  they  clinched  the  bumble-stings, 
Gauming  honey  on  their  wings, 

And  bundling  them  in  lily-bells, 
With  maudlin  mtirmurings. 

And  the  humming-bird,  that  hung 

Like  a  jewel  up  among 
The  tilted  honeysuckle  horns, 

They  mesmerized  and  swung 

In  the  palpitating  air, 

Drowsed  with  odors  strange  and  rare, 
And,  with  whispered  laughter,  slipped  away, 

And  left  him  hanging  there. 
129 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

And  they  braided  blades  of  grass 
Where  the  truant  had  to  pass ; 

And  they  wriggled  through  the  rushes 
And  the  reeds  of  the  morass, 
Where  they  danced,  in  rapture  sweet, 
O'er  the  leaves  that  laid  a  street 

Of  undulant  mosaic  for 

The  touches  of  their  feet. 

By  the  brook  with  mossy  brink, 
Where  the  cattle  came  to  drink, 

They  trilled  and  piped  and  whistled 
With  the  thrush  and  bobolink, 
Till  the  kine,  in  listless  pause, 
Switched  their  tails  in  mute  applause, 

With  lifted  heads,  and  dreamy  eyes, 
And  bubble-dripping  jaws. 

And  where  the  melons  grew, 
Streaked  with  yellow,  green  and  blue, 

These  jolly  sprites  went  wandering 
Through  spangled  paths  of  dew ; 
And  the  melons,  here  and  there, 
They  made  love  to,  everywhere, 

Turning  their  pink  souls  to  crimson     '^' 
With  caresses  fond  and  fair. 


THE    SOUTH    WIND    AND    THE    SUN 

Over  orchard  walls  they  went, 
Where  the  fruited  boughs  were  bent 

Till  they  brushed  the  sward  beneath  them 
Where  the  shine  and  shadow  blent; 
And  the  great  green  pear  they  shook 
Till  the  sallow  hue  forsook 

Its  features,  and  the  gleam  of  gold 
Laughed  out  in  every  look. 

And  they  stroked  the  downy  cheek 
Of  the  peach,  and  smoothed  it  sleek, 

And  flushed  it  into  splendor; 

And,  with  many  an  elfish  freak, 
Gave  the  russet's  rust  a  wipe — 
Prankt  the  rambo  with  a  stripe, 

And  the  winesap  blushed  its  reddest 
As  they  spanked  the  pippins  ripe. 

Through  the  woven  ambuscade 
That  the  twining  vines  had  made, 

They  found  the  grapes,  in  clusters, 

Drinking  up  the  shine  and  shade — 
Plumpt,  like  tiny  skins  of  wine, 
With  a  vintage  so  divine 

That  the  tongue  of  Fancy  tingled 
With  the  tang  of  muscadine. 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 

And  the  golden-banded  bees, 
Droning  o'er  the  flowery  leas, 

They  bridled,  reined,  and  rode  away 
Across  the  fragrant  breeze, 
Till  in  hollow  oak  and  elm 
They  had  groomed  and  stabled  them 

In  waxen  stalls  that  oozed  with  dews 
Of  rose  and  lily-stem. 

Where  the  dusty  highway  leads, 
High  above  the  wayside  weeds, 

They  sowed  the  air  with  butterflies 
Like  blooming  flower-seeds, 
Till  the  dull  grasshopper  sprung 
Half  a  man's-height  up,  and  hung 

Tranced  in  the  heat,  with  whirring  wings, 
And  sung  and  sung  and  sung! 

And  they  loitered,  hand  in  hand, 
Where  the  snipe  along  the  sand 

Of  the  river  ran  to  meet  them 

As  the  ripple  meets  the  land, 
Till  the  dragonfly,  in  light 
Gauzy  armor,  burnished  bright, 

Came  tilting  down  the  waters 
In  a  wild,  bewildered  flight. 


THE    SOUTH    WIND    AND    THE    SUN 

And  they  heard  the  kildee's  call, 

And  afar,  the  waterfall, 
But  the  rustle  of  a  falling  leaf 

They  heard  above  it  all ; 

And  the  trailing  willow  crept 

Deeper  in  the  tide  that  swept 
The  leafy  shallop  to  the  shore, 

And  wept  and  wept  and  wept ! 

And  the  fairy  vessel  veered 

From  its  moorings — tacked  and  steered 

For  the  center  of  the  current — 

Sailed  away  and  disappeared : 
And  the  burthen  that  it  bore 
From  the  long-enchanted  shore — 

"Alas!  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun!  " 
I  murmur  evermore. 

For  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun, 

Each  so  loves  the  other  one, 
For  all  his  jolly  folly, 

And  frivolity  and  fun, 

That  our  love  for  them  they  weigh 

As  their  fickle  fancies  may, 
And  when  at  last  we  love  them  most, 

They  laugh  and  sail  away. 
'35 


[Restored  Romaunt.] 

IT  was  a  Jolly  Miller  lived  on  the  River  Dee  ; 
He  looked  upon  his  piller,  and  there  he  found  a  flea : 
"O  Mr.  Flea!  you  have  bit'  me, 
And  you  sfeall  shorely  die !  " 
So  he  scrunched  his  bones  against  the  stones — 
And  there  he  let  him  lie ! 

'Twas  then  the  Jolly  Miller  he  laughed  and  told  his  wife, 
And  she  laughed  fit  to  kill  her,  and  dropped  her  carvin'- 

knife !  — 
"O  Mr.  Flea!  "  "Ho-ho!"  "  Tee-hee !  " 

They  both  laughed  fit  to  kill, 
Until  the  sound  did  almost  drownd 
The  rumble  of  the  mill ! 

'•'•Laugh  on,  my  Jolly  Miller!  and  Missus  Miller,  tool — 
But  there's  a  weeping-wilier  -will  soon  -wave  over  you!" 
The  voice  was  all  so  awful  small — 

So  very  small  and  slim  ! — 
He  durst'  infer  that  it  was  her, 
Ner  her  infer  'twas  him ! 


THE    JOLLY    MILLER 

That  night  the  Jolly  Miller,  says  he,  "It's  Wifey  dear, 
That  cat  o'  yourn,  I'd  kill  her! — her  actions  is  so  queer, — 
She  rubbin'  'ginst  the  grindstone-legs, 

And  yowlin'  at  the  sky — 
And  I  'low  the  moon  haint  greener 
Than  the  yaller  of  her  eye!  " 

And  as  the  Jolly  Miller  went  chuckle-un  to  bed, 
Was  Somepin  jerked  his  piller  from  underneath  his  head ! 
"O  Wife,"  says  he,  on-easi-lee, 

"  Fetch  here  that  lantern  there!  " 
But  Somepin  moans  in  thunder  tones, 
' '  You  fetch  it  ef  you  dare  ! ' ' 

'Twas  then  the  Jolly  Miller  he  trimbled  and  he  quailed — 
And  his  wife  choked  until  her  breath  come  back,  'n'  she 

iv  ailed! 
And  "  O!  "  cried  she,  "  it  is  the  Flea, 

All  white  and  pale  and  wann — 
He's  got  you  in  his  clutches,  and 
He1  s  bigger  than  a  man  !  " 

"Ho!  ho!  my  Jolly  Miller,1"   (fer  'twas  the  Flea,  fer 

shore!  ) 
*•  I  reckon  you'll  not  rack  my  bones  ner  scrunch  'em  any 

more  !  ' ' 
And  then  the  Ghost  he  grabbed  him  clos't, 

With  many  a  ghastly  smile, 
And  from  the  doorstep  stooped  and  hopped 
About  four  hundred  mile  ! 

'39 


OUR  HIRED  GIRL 


OUR  hired  girl,  she's  'Lizabuth  Ann  ; 
An'  she  can  cook  best  things  to  eat ! 
She  ist  puts  dough  in  our  pie-pan, 

An'  pours  in  somepin'  'at's  good  and  sweet, 
An'  nen  she  salts  it  all  on  top 
With  cinnamon;   an'  nen  she'll  stop 
An'  stoop  an'  slide  it,  ist  as  slow, 
In  th'  old  cook-stove,  so's  'twon't  slop 
An'  git  all  spilled ;   nen  bakes  it,  so 
It's  custard  pie,  first  thing  you  know! 

An'  nen  she'll  say: 
"  Clear  out  o'  my  way ! 

They's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! — 
Take  yer  dough,  an'  run,  Child;  run! 
Er  I  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done!  " 

When  our  hired  girl  'tends  like  she's  mad, 
An'  says  folks  got  to  walk  the  chalk 

When  she's  around,  er  wisht  they  had, 
I  play  out  on  our  porch  an'  talk 
140 


OUR    HIRED    GIRL 

To  th'  Raggedy  Man  'at  mows  our  lawn; 
An'  he  s,ays  "  Whew!"  an'  nen  leans  on 

His  old  crook-scythe,  and  blinks  his  eyes 
An'  sniffs  all  round  an'  says, — "I  swawn! 
Ef  my  old  nose  don't  tell  me  lies, 
It  'pears  like  I  smell  custard-pies!  " 

An'  nen  he'll  say, — 
"  '  Clear  out  o'  my  way! 
They's  time  fer  work  an'  time  fer  play! 
Tak,e  yer  dough,  an'  run,  Child;  run! 
Er  she  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done ! ' ' 


Wunst  our  hired  girl,  one  time  when  she 

Got  the  supper,  an'  we  all  et, 
An'  it  was  night,  an'  Ma  ar£  me 

An'  Pa  went  wher'  the  "^Social  "  met, — 
An'  nen  when  we  come  home,  an'  see 
A  light  in  the  kitchen-door,  an'  we 

Heerd  a  maccordeum,  Pa  says  "Lan'- 
O'-Gracious!   who  can  her  beau  be?  " 

An'  I  marched  in,  an'  'Lizabuth  Ann 

Wuz  parchin'  corn  fer  the  Raggedy  Man! 
Better  say 

"Clear  out  o'  the  way! 

They's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! 
Take  the  hint,  an'  run,  Child;  run! 
Er  we  cain't  git  no  courtin'  done!  " 


LAS'  time  'at  Uncle  Sidney  come, 
He  bringed  a  watermelon  home — 

An'  half  the  boys  in  town, 
Come  taggin'  after  him. — An'  he 
Says,  when  we  et  it, — '•'•Gracious  me! 
'S  the  boy-house  fell  down?  " 


NOEY  Bixler  ketched  him,  and  fetched  him  in  to  me 
When  he's  ist  a  little  teenty-weenty  baby-coon 
'Bout  as  big  as  little  pups,  an'  tied  him  to  a  tree; 

An'  Pa  gived  Noey  fifty  cents,  when  he  come  home  at 

noon. 
Nen  he  buyed  a  chain  fer  him,  an'  little  collar,  too, 

An'  sawed  a  hole  in  a'  old  tub  an'  turnt  it  upside-down ; 

An'  little  feller'd  stay  in  there  and  won't  come  out  fer  you — 

'Tendin'  like  he's   kindo'  skeered  o'  boys  'at  lives    in 

town. 


THE    PET    COON 

Now  he  aint  afeard  a  bit !  he's  ist  so  fat  an'  tame, 

We  on'y  chain  him  up  at  night,  to  save  the  little  chicks. 
Holler  "Greedy!   Greedy!"   to   him,    an'    he  knows  his 
name, 

An'  here  he'll  come  a-waddle-un,  up  fer  any  tricks  ! 
He'll  climb  up  my  leg,  he  will,  an'  waller  in  my  lap, 

An'  poke  his  little  black  paws  'way  in  my  pockets  where 
They's  beechnuts,  er  chinkypins,  er  any  little  scrap 

Of  anything  'at's  good  to  eat — an'  he  don't  care  ! 

An'  he's  as  spunky  as  you  please,  an'  don't  like  dogs  at 

all.— 

Billy  Miller's  black-an'-tan  tackled  him  one  day, 
An'  "Greedy"  he  ist  kindo'  doubled  all  up  like  a  ball, 

An'  Billy's  dog  he  gived  a  yelp  er  two  an'  runned  away  ! 
An'  nen  when  Billy  fighted  me,  an'  hit  me  with  a  bone, 
An'   Ma  she  purt'nigh  ketched   him  as  he  dodged  an' 

skooted  thro' 

The  fence,  she  says,  "You  better  let  my  little  boy  alone, 
Er   'Greedy,'  next  he  whips  yer  dog,  shall  whip  you, 
too!" 


146 


THE  Old  Hay-mow's  the  place  to  play 
Fer  boys,  when  it's  a  rainy  day  ! 
I  good-'eal  ruther  be  up  there 
Than  down  in  town,  er  anywhere  ! 


When  I  play  in  our  stable-loft, 
The  good  old  hay's  so  dry  an'  soft, 
An'  feels  so  fine,  an'  smells  so  sweet, 
I  'most  ferget  to  go  an'  eat. 
148 


THE    OLD    HAY  MOW 


An'  one  time  wunst  I  did  ferget 

To  go  'tel  dinner  was  all  et, — 

An'  they  had  short-cake — an' — Bud  he 

Hogged  up  the  piece  Ma  saved  fer  me  ! 


Nen  I  won't  let  him  play  no  more 
In  our  hay-mow  where  I  keep  store 
An'  got  hen-eggs  to  sell, — an'  shoo 
The  cackle-un  old  hen  out,  too  ! 


An'  nen,  when  Aunty  she  was  here 
A-visitun  from  Rensselaer, 
An'  bringed  my  little  cousin, — he 
Can  come  up  there  an'  play  with  me. 


But,  after  while — when  Bud  he  bets 
'At  I  can't  turn  no  summersetts, — 
I  let  him  come  up,  ef  he  can 
Ac'  ha'f-way  like  a  gentleman  ! 


'5' 


HI  and  whoop-hooray,  boys  ! 
Sing  a  song  of  cheer! 
Here's  a  holiday,  boys, 

Lasting  half  a  year! 
Round  the  world,  and  half  is 

Shadow  we  have  tried  ; 
Now  we're  where  the  laugh  is, — 
On  the  sunny  side ! 


Pigeons  coo  and  mutter, 

Strutting  high  aloof 
Where  the  sunbeams  flutter 

Through  the  stable  roof. 
Hear  the  chickens  cheep,  boys, 

And  the  hen  with  pride 
Clucking  them  to  sleep,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side  ! 


ON    THE    SUNNY     SIDE 

Hear  the  clacking  guinea  ; 

Hear  the  cattle  moo ; 
Hear  the  horses  whinny, 

Looking  out  at  you ! 
On  the  hitching-block,  boyss 

Grandly  satisfied, 
See  the  old  peacock,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side  ! 

Robins  in  the  peach-tree ; 

Bluebirds  in  the  pear; 
Blossoms  over  each  tree 

In  the  orchard  there  ! 
All  the  world's  in  joy,  boys. 

Glad  and  glorified 
As  a  romping  boy,  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side  ! 

Where's  a  heart  as  mellow? 

Where's  a  soul  as  free? 
Where  is  any  fellow 

We  would  rather  be  ? 
Just  ourselves  or  none,  boys, 

World  around  and  wide, 
Laughing  in  the  sun  boys, 

On  the  sunny  side  ! 

'55 


BAREFOOTED  boys  scud  up  the  street, 
Or  skurry  under  sheltering  sheds ; 
And  schoolgirl  faces,  pale  and  sweet, 

Gleam  from  the  shawls  about  their  heads. 


Doors  bang;  and  mother-voices  call 
From  alien  homes ;  and  rusty  gates 

Are  slammed;  and  high  above  it  all, 
The  thunder  grim  reverberates. 

And  then,  abrupt, — the  rain  !  the  rain  ! — 

The  earth  lies  gasping;  and  the  eyes 
Behind  the  streaming  window-pane 

7    /   /  '  Smile  at  the  trouble  of  the  skies. 

''  '  t  I  /       / 

156 


J/ 


A    SUDDEN    SHOWER 

The  highway  smokes;  sharp  echoes  ring; 

The  cattle  bawl  and  cowbells  clank; 
And  into  town  comes  galloping 

The  farmer's  horse,  with  steaming  flank. 

The  swallow  dips  beneath  the  eaves, 

And  flirts  his  plumes  and  folds  his  wings ; 

And  under  the  catawba  leaves 

The  caterpillar  curls  and  clings. 

The  bumble-bee  is  pelted  down 

The  wet  stem  of  the  hollyhock ; 
And  sullenly,  in  spattered  brown, 

The  cricket  leaps  the  garden  walk. 

Within,  the  baby  claps  his  hands 

And  crows  with  rapture  strange  and  vague  ; 
Without,  beneath  the  rosebush  stands 

A  dripping  rooster  on  one  leg. 


GRANDFATHER  SQUEERS 


M 


Y  grandfather  Squeers,"  said  The  Raggedy  Man, 
As  he  solemnly  lighted  his  pipe  and  began — 


"The  most  indestructible  man,  for  his  years, 

And  the  grandest  on  earth,  was  my  grandfather  Squeers! 


"  He  said,  when  he  rounded  his  three-score-and-ten, 
'  I've    the  hang  of  it  now  and  can  do  it  again! ' 


160 


GRANDFATHER    SQUEERS 

"He  had  frozen  his  heels  so  repeatedly,  he 

Could  tell  by  them  just  what  the  weather  would  be  ;         **•'•* 

"And  would  laugh  and  declare,  '  while  the  Almanac  would 
Most  falsely  prognosticate,  he  never  could!  ' 


"Such  a  hale  constitution  had  grandfather  Squeers 
That,  'though  he'd  used  '•navy''  for  sixty  odd  years, 

"He  still  chewed  a  dime's-worth  six  days  of  the  week, 
While  the  seventh  he  passed  with  a  chew  in  each  cheek : 

"Then  my  grandfather  Squeers  had  a  singular  knack 
Of  sitting  around  on  the  small  of  his  back, 

"With  his  legs  like  a  letter  Y  stretched  o'er  the  grate 
Wherein  'twas  his  custom  to  ex-pec-tor-ate. 

"  He  was  fond  of  tobacco  in  manifold  ways, 
And  would  sit  on  the  door-step,  of  sunshiny  days, 

"And  smoke  leaf-tobacco   he'd  raised  strictly  for 
The  pipe  he'd  used  all  through  The  Mexican  War." 

161 


GRANDFATHER    SQUEERS 


And  The  Raggedy  Man  said,  refilling  the  bowl 
Of  his  oivn  pipe  and  leisurely  picking  a  coal 


From  the  stove  with  his  finger  and  thumb,  "  You  can  see 
What  a  tee-nacious  habit  he's  fastened  on  me! 


"And  my  grandfather  Squeers  took  a  special  delight 
In  pruning  his  corns  every  Saturday  night 

"ZT3 

"With  a  horn-handled  razor,  whose  edge  he  excused 
By  saying  'twas  one  that  his  grandfather  used; 

"And,  though  deeply  etched  in  the  haft  of  the  same 
Was  the  ever-euphonious  Wostenholm's  name, 

" 'Twas  my  grandfather's  custom  to  boast  of  the  blade 
As  'A  Seth  Thomas  razor — the  best  ever  made !  ' 

"No  Old  Settlers'  Meeting,  or  Pioneers'  Fair, 

Was  complete  without  grandfather  Squeers  in  the  chair, 

"  To  lead  off  the  programme  by  telling  folks  how 
'  He  used  to  shoot  deer  where  the  Court-House  stands 
now  ' —  j  62 


%„ 

GRANDFATHER    SQUEERS 

'«'  J"  "-"""" 

"How  'he  felt,  of  a  truth,  to  live  over  the  past, 
When  the  country  was  wild  and  unbroken  and  vast, 

"  '  That  the  little  log  cabin  was  just  plenty  fine 
For  himself,  his  companion,  and  fambly  of  nine ! — 


"  'When  they  didn't   have  even  a  pump,  or  a  tin, 
But  drunk  surface-water,  year  out  and  year  in, 


"  '  From  the  old-fashioned  gourd  that  was  sweeter,  by  odds, 
Than«the  goblets  of  gold  at  the  lips  of  the  gods!  ' 

Then  The  Raggedy  Man  paused  to  plaintively  say 
It  was  clockin'  along  to'rds  the  close  of  the  day — 

And  he'd  ought  to  get  back  to  his  work  on  the  lawn, — 
Then  dreamily  blubbered  his  pipe  and  went  on: 

"His  teeth  were  imperfect — my  grandfather  owned 
That  he   couldn't  eat  oysters  unless  they  were  'boned  ' ; 

"And  his  eyes  were  so  weak,  and  so  feeble  of  sight, 
He  couldn't  sleep  with  them  unless,  every  night, 

164 


CtHe  put  on  his  spectacles — all  he  possessed, — 
Three  pairs — with  his  goggles  on  top  of  the  rest. 


"And  my  granfather  always,  retiring  at  night, 
Blew  down  the  lamp-chimney  to  put  out  the  light; 


"  Then  he'd  curl  up  on  edge  like  a  shaving,  in  bed, 
And  puff  and  smoke  pipes  in  his  sleep,  it  is  said : 

•'And  would  snore  oftentimes,  as  the  legends  relate, 
Till  his  folks  were  wrought  up  to  a  terrible  state, — 

"  Then  he'd  snort,  and  rear  up,  and  roll  over;  and  there, 
In  the  subsequent  hush  they  could  hear  him  chew  air. 

''And  so  glaringly  bald  was  the  top  of  his  head 
That  many's  the  time  he  has  musingly  said, 

'•'•  As  his  eyes  journeyed  o'er  its  reflex  in  the  glass, — 
'I  must  set  out  a  few  signs  of  Keep  Off  the  Grass  T 

'65 


GRANDFATHER    SQUEERS 

"So  remarkably  deaf  was  my  grandfather  Squeers 
That  he  had  to  wear  lightning-rods  over  his  ears 

"To  even  hear  thunder — and  oftentimes  then 
He  was  forced  to  request  it  to  thunder  again." 


IT  was  just  a  very 
Merry  fairy  dream! — 
All  the  woods  were  airy 

With  the  gloom  and  gleam 
Crickets  in  the  clover 

Clattered  clear  and  strong, 
And  the  bees  droned  over 
Their  old  honey-song. 

In  the  mossy  passes, 

Saucy  grasshoppers 
Leapt  about  the  grasses 

And  the  thistle-burs ; 
And  the  whispered  chuckle 

Of  the  katydid 
Shook  the  honeysuckle 

Blossoms  where  he  hid. 
167 


THE    PIXY    PEOPLE 


"Z- 


Through  the  breezy  mazes 

Of  the  lazy  June, 
Drowsy  with  the  hazes 

Of  the  dreamy  noon, 
Little  Pixy  people 

Winged  above  the  walk, 
Pouring  from  the  steeple 

Of  a  mullein-stalk. 

One — a  gallant  fellow — 

Evidently  King, — 
Wore  a  plume  of  yellow 

In  a  jewelled  ring 
On  a  pansy  bonnet, 

Gold  and  white  and  blue, 
With  the  dew  still  on  it, 

And  the  fragrance,  too. 

One — a  dainty  lady  — 

Evidently  Queen, — 
Wore  a  gown  of  shady 

Moonshine  and  green, 
With  a  lace  of  gleaming 

Starlight  that  sent 
All  the  dewdrops  dreaming 

Everywhere  she  went. 
1 68 


THE    PIXY    PEOPLE 

One  wore  a  waistcoat 

Of  roseleaves,  out  and  in, 
And  one  wore  a  faced-coat 

Of  tiger-lily-skin ; 
And  one  wore  a  neat  coat 

Of  palest  galingale ; 
And  one  a  tiny  street-coat, 

And  one  a  swallow-tail. 

And  Ho !   sang  the  King  of  them, 

And  Hey!   sang  the  Queen; 
And  round  and  round  the  ring  of  them 

Went  dancing  o'er  the  green  ; 
And  Hey !   sang  the  Queen  of  them, 

And  Ho !   sang  the  King — 
And  all  that  I  had  seen  of  them 

— Wasn't  anything! 

It  was  just  a  very 

Merry  fairy  dream! — 
All  the  woods  were  airy 

With  the  gloom  and  gleam ; 
Crickets  in  the  clover 

Clattered  clear  and  strong, 
And  the  bees  droned  over 

Their  old  honey-song! 
170 


\  \ 


\    <,   \    •'   :    -•' 

\ \ ;  ///V"', 


'   jarcCflK?  ./i  <J*   _  ••.._«  •VKJLvC^^r 


T 


A  LIFE-LESSON 

HERE  !   little  girl ;  don't  cry ! 

They  have  broken  your  doll,  I  know; 
And  your  tea-set  blue, 
And  your  play-house,  too, 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 
171 


THE    LIFE-LESSON 

But  childish  troubles  will  soon  pass  by. — 
There!    little  girl;   don't  cry! 

There!   little  girl ;  don't  cry! 

They  have  broken  your  slate,  I  know ; 
And  the  glad,  wild  ways 
Of  your  school-girl  days 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 

But  life  and  love  will  soon  come  by. — 
There  !  little  girl ;   don't  cry  ! 

There  !    little  girl ;   don't  cry  ! 

They  have  broken  your  heart,  I  know ; 
And  the  rainbow  gleams 
Of  your  youthful  dreams 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 

But  Heaven  holds  all  for  which  you  sigh.- 
There  !  little  girl;   don't  cry  ! 


IffA 


1 


IHL. 


BUD,  come  here  to  your  Uncle  a  spell, 
And  I'll  tell  you  something  you  mustn't  tell- 
For  it's  a  secret  and  shore-nuff  true, 
And  maybe  I  oughtn't  to  tell  it  to  you  ! — 
But  out  in  the  garden,  under  the  shade 
Of  the  apple-trees,  where  we  romped  and  played 
Till  the  moon  was  up,  and  you  thought  I'd  gone 
Fast  asleep. — That  was  all  put  on! 
For  I  was  a-watchin'  something  queer 
Goin'  on  there  in  the  grass,  my  dear! 
'Way  down  deep  in  it,  there  I  see 
A  little  dude-Fairy  who  winked  at  me, 

'75 


A    HOME-MADE    FAIRY-TALE 

And  snapped  his  fingers,  and  laughed  as  low 

And  fine  as  the  whine  of  a  mus-kee-to ! 

I  kept  still — watchin'  him  closer — and 

I  noticed  a  little  guitar  in  his  hand, 

Which  he  leant  'ginst  a  little  dead  bee — and  laid 

His  cigarette  down  on  a  clean  grass-blade  ; 

And  then  climbed  up  on  the  shell  of  a  snail — 

Carefully  dusting  his  swallowtail — 

And  pulling  up,  by  a  waxed  web-thread, 

This  little  guitar,  you  remember,  I  said! 

And  there  he  trinkled  and  trilled  a  tune — 

"  My  Love,  so  Fair,  Tans  in  the  Moon !  " 

Till  presently,  out  of  the  clover-top 

He  seemed  to  be  singing  to,  came,  k'pop! 

The  purtiest,  daintiest  Fairy  face 

In  all  this  world,  or  any  place! 

Then  the  little  ser'nader  waved  his  hand, 

As  much  as  to  say,  "  We'll  excuse  you!  "  and 

I  heard,  as  I  squinted  my  eyelids  to, 

A  kiss  like  the  drip  of  a  drop  of  dew! 


176 


THE  BEAR  STORY 


W'Y,  wunst  they  wuz  a  Little  Boy  went  out 
In  the  woods  to  shoot  a  Bear.     So,  he  went  out 
'Way  in  the  grea'-big  woods — he  did. — An'  he 
Wuz  goin'  along — an'  goin'  along,  you  know, 
An'  purty  soon  he  heerd  somepin'  go  "  Woo/i!" — 
1st  thataway — "  Woo-ooh  !  "  An'  he  wuz  skcercd, 
He  wuz.     An'  so  he  runned  an''  clumbed  a  tree — 
A  grea'-big  tree,  he  did, — a  sicka-more  tree. 
An'  nen  he  heerd  it  ag'in:    an'  he  looked  round, 
An'  't'uz  a  Bear! — a  grea'-big  shore-nuff  Bear! — 
No:    't'uz  ttvo  Bears,  it  wuz — two  grea'-big  Bears — 
One  of  'em  wuz — ist  one's  a  grea'-big  Bear. — 
But  they  ist  boff  went  "  Wooh  /  " — An'  here  they  come 
To  climb  the  tree  an'  git  the  Little  Boy 
An'  eat  him  up ! 

179 


THE    BEAR    STORY 

An'  nen  the  Little  Boy 

He  'uz  skeered  worse'n  ever!      An'  here  come 
The  grea'-big  Bear  a-climbin'  th'  tree  to  git 
The  Little  Boy  an'  eat  him  up — Oh,  no! — 
It  'uzn't  the  Big  Bear  'at  dumb  the  tree — 
It  'uz  the  Little  Bear.     So  here  he  come 
Climbin'  the  tree — an'  climbin'  the  tree!     Nen  when 
He  git  wite  clos't  to  the  Little  Boy,  w'y  nen 
The  Little  Boy  he  ist  pulled  up  his  gun 
An'  shot  the  Bear,  he  did,  an'  killed  him  dead! 
An'  nen  the  Bear  he  failed  clean  on  down  out 
The  tree — away  clean  to  the  ground,  he  did — 
Spling-splung !  he  failed  plum  down,  an'  killed  him,  too 
An'  lit  wite  side  o'  where  the  Big  Bear's  at. 


An'  nen  the  Big  Bear's  awful  mad,  you  bet! — 
'Cause — 'cause  the  Little  Boy  he  shot  his  gun 
An'  killed  the  Little  Bear. — 'Cause  the  Big  Bear 
He — he  'uz  the  Little  Bear's  Papa. — An'  so  here 
He  come  to  climb  the  big  old  tree  an'  git 
The  Little  Boy  an'  eat  him  up!     An'  when 
The  Little  Boy  he  saw  the  grea'-big  Bear 

i  So 


THE    BEAR    STORY 

A-comin',  he  uz  badder  skeered,  he  wuz, 

Than  any  time  !  An'  so  he  think  he'll  climb 

Up  higher — 'way  up  higher  in  the  tree 

Than  the  old  Bear  kin  climb,  you  know. — But  he — 

He  can't  climb  higher  'an  old  Bears  kin  climb, — 

'Cause  Bears  kin  climb  up  higher  in  the  trees 

Than  any  little  Boys  in  all  the  Wo-r-r-ld ! 

An'  so  here  come  the  grea'-big  Bear,  he  did, — 

A-climbin'  up — an'  up  the  tree,  to  git 

The  Little  Boy  an'  eat  him  up!     An'  so 

The  Little  Boy  he  clumbed  on  higher,  an'  higher, 

An'  higher  up  the  tree — an'  higher — an'  higher — 

An'  higher'n  iss-here  house  is! — An'  here  come 

Th'  old  Bear — clos'ter  to  him  all  the  time! — 

An'  nen — first  thing  you  know, — when  th'  old  Big  Bear 

Wuz  wite  clos't  to  him — nen  the  Little  Boy 

1st  jabbed  his  gun  wite  in  the  old  Bear's  mouf 

An'  shot  an'  killed  him  dead! — No;   \fergot, — 

He  didn't  shoot  the  grea'-big  Bear  at  all — 

'Cause  they  'uz  no  load  in  the  gun,  you  know — 

'Cause  when  he  shot  the  Little  Bear,  w'y,  nen 

No  load  'uz  anymore  nen  in  the  gun! 

But  th'  Little  Boy  clumbed  higher  up,  he  did — 
He  clumbed  lots  higher — an'  on  up  higher — an'  higher 
An'  higher— te\  he  ist  can't  climb  no  higher, 
'Cause  nen  the  limbs  'uz  all  so  little,  'way 

181 


THE    BEAR    STORY 

Up  in  the  teeny-weeny  tip-top  of 
The  tree,  they'd  break  down  wiv  him  ef  he  don't 
Be  keerfuj !      So  he  stop  an'  think:    An'  nen 
He  look  around — An'  here  come  th'  old  Bear! 

An'  so  the  Little  Boy  make  up  his  mind 

He's  got  to  ist  git  out  o'  there  some  way! — 

'Cause  here  come  the  old  Bear! — so  clos't,  his  bref's 

Purt  'nigh  so's  he  kin  feel  how  hot  it  is 

Ag'inst  his  bare  feet — ist  like  old  "  Ring's  "  bref 

When  he's  ben  out  a-huntin'  an's  all  tired. 

So  when  th'  old  Bear's  so  clos't — the  Little  Boy 

Ist  gives  a  grea'-big  jump  fer  Another  tree — 

No! — no  he  don't  do  that! — I  tell  you  what 

The  Little  Boy  does: — W'y,  nen — w'y,  he — Oh,  yes- 

The  Little  Boy  fee  jinds  a  hole  up  there 

'At's  in  the  tree — an'  climbs  in  there  an'  hides — 

An'  nen  th'  old  Bear  can't  find  the  Little  Boy 

At  all! — But,  purty  soon  th'  old  Bear  finds 

.,The  Little  Boy's  gun  'at's  up  there — 'cause  the^« 
,.|  Jt's  too  tall  to  tooked  wiv  him  in  the  hole. 
\   So1,  when  the  old  Bear  find'  the  gun,  he  knows 

.The  Little  Boy's  ist  hid  'round  somers  there, — 
An'  lh'  old  Bear  'gins  to  snuff  an'  sniff  around, 
An'  sniff  an'  snuff  around — so's  he  kin  find 
Out  where  the  Little  Boy's  hid  at. — An'  nen — nen — 
Oh,  yes  ! — W'y,  purty  soon  the  old  Bear  climbs 
'Way  out  on  a  big  limb — a  grea'-long  limb, — 

182 


THE    BEAR    STORY 

An'  nen  the  Little  Boy  climbs  out  the  hole 
An'  takes  his  ax  an'  chops  the  limb  off!    .   .   .  Nen 
The  old  Bear  falls  k-splunge  /  clean  to  the  ground 
An'  bust  an'  kill  hisse'f  plum  dead,  he  did! 

An'  nen  the  Little  Boy  he  git  his  gun 

An'  'menced  a-climbin'  down  the  tree  ag'in — 

No! — no,  he  didn't  git  his  gun — 'cause  when 

The  Bear  failed,  nen  the  gun  failed,  too — An'  broked 

It  all  to  pieces,  too! — An'  nicest  gun  ! — 

His  Pa  ist  buyed  it ! — An'  the  Little  Boy 

1st  cried,  he  did;  an'  went  on  climbin'  down 

The  tree — an'  climbin'  down — an'  climbin'  down  ! — 

An '-sir  !  when  he  'uz  purt'-nigh  down, — w'y,  nen 

The  old  Bear  he  jumped  up  ag'in  ! — an'  he 

Ain't  dead  at  all — ist  'tendin'  thataway, 

So  he  kin  git  the  Little  Boy  an'  eat 

Him  up!    But  the  Little  Boy  he  'uz  too  smart 

To  climb  clean  down  the  tree. — An'  the  old  Bear 

He  can't  climb  up  the  tree  no  more — 'cause  when 

He  fell,  he  broke  one  of  his — he  broke  all 

His  legs  ! — an'  nen  he  couldn't  climb  !     But  he 

Ist  won't  go' way  an'  let  the  Little  Boy 

Come  down  out  of  the  tree.     An'  the  old  Bear 

Ist  growls  'round  there,  he  does — ist 'growls  an'  goes 

"  Wooh  ! — woo-oo/i!"   all  the  time!     An'  Little  Boy 

He  haf  to  stay  up  in  the  tree — all  night — 

An'  'thout  no  supper  neether! — On'y  they 

183 


THE    BEAR    STORY 

Wuz  apples  on  the  tree! — An'  Little  Boy 

Et  apples — ist  all  night — an'  cried — an'  cried ! 

Nen  when  'tuz  morning  th'  old  Bear  went  "  Wooh  !  " 

Ag'in,  an'  try  to  climb  up  in  the  tree 

An'  git  the  Little  Boy. — But  he  can't 

Climb  t'save  his  soul,  he  can't  ! — An'  oh  /  he's  mad / — 

He  ist  tear  up  the  ground  !  an'  go  "  Woo-ooh  !  " 

An' — Oh,  yes  ! — purty  soon,  when  morning's  come 

All  light — so's  you  kin  see,  you  know, — w'y,  nen 

The  old  Bear  finds  the  Little  Boy's  gun,  you  know, 

'At's  on  the  ground. — (An'  it  ain't  broke  at  all — 

I  ist  said  that  !  )   An'  so  the  old  Bear  think 

He'll  take  the  gun  an'  shoot  the  Little  Boy:  — 

But  Bears  they  don't  know  much  'bout  shootin'  guns: 

So  when  he  go  to  shoot  the  Little  Boy, 

The  old  Bear  got  the  other  end  the  gun 

Ag'in'  his  shoulder,  'stid  o'  th^ other  end — 

So  when  he  try  to  shoot  the  Little  Boy, 

It  shot  the  Bear,  it  did — an'  killed  him  dead  ! 

An'  nen  the  Little  Boy  dumb  down  the  tree 

An'  chopped  his  old  woolly  head  off: — Yes,  an'  killed 

The  other  Bear  ag'in,  he  did — an'  killed 

All  boff  \\\z  bears,  he  did — an'  tuk  'em  home 

An'  cooked  'em,  too,  an'  et  'em  ! 

— An'  that's  all, 


\ 


ENVOY 


MANY  pleasures  of  youth  have  been  buoyantly  sung — 
And,  borne  on  the  winds  of  delight,  may  they  beat 
With  their  palpitant  wings  at  the  hearts  of  the  Young, 

And  in  bosoms  of  Age  find  as  warm  a  retreat ! — 
Yet  sweetest  of  all  of  the  musical  throng, 

Though  least  of  the  numbers  that  upward  aspire, 
Is  the  one  rising  now  into  wavering  song, 
As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 


'Tis  a  Winter  long  dead  that  beleaguers  my  door 

And  muffles  his  steps  in  the  snows  of  the  past: 
And  I  see,  in  the  embers  I'm  dreaming  before, 

Lost  faces  of  love  as  they  looked  on  me  last: — 
The  round,  laughing  eyes  of  the  desk-mate  of  old 

Gleam  out  for  a  moment  with  truant  desire — 
Then  fade  and  are  lost  in  a  City  of  Gold, 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

And  then  comes  the  face,  peering  back  in  my  own, 
Of  a  shy  little  girl,  with  her  lids  drooping  low, 

As  she  faltering  tells,  in  a  far-away  tone, 
The  ghost  of  a  story  of  long,  long  ago. — 

187 


ENVOY 

Then  her  dewy  blue  eyes  they  are  lifted  again  ; 

But  I  see  their  glad  light  slowly  fail  and  expire, 
As  I  reach  and  cry  to  her  in  vain,  all  in  vain' — 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 

Then  the  face  of  a  Mother  looks  back,  through  the  mist 

Of  the  tears  that  are  welling;    and,  lucent  with  light, 
I  see  the  dear  smile  of  the  lips  I  have  kissed 

As  she  knelt  by  my  cradle  at  morning  and  night; 
And  my  arms  are  outheld,  with  a  yearning  too  wild 

For  any  but  God  in  His  love  to  inspire, 
As  she  pleads  at  the  foot  of  His  throne  for  her  child, — 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire., 

O  pathos  of  rapture  !  O  glorious  pain  ! 

My  heart  is  a  blossom  of  joy  over-run 
With  a  shower  of  tears,  as  a  lily  with  rain 

That  weeps  in  the  shadow  and  laughs  in  the  sun. 
The  blight  of  the  frost  may  descend  on  the  tree, 

And  the  leaf  and  the  flower  may  fall  and  expire, 
But  ever  and  ever  love  blossoms  for  me, 

As  I  sit  in  the  silence  and  gaze  in  the  fire. 


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